


for in our youth we did these things

by hihoplastic



Series: The Worst Witch Tumblr Prompts [6]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, TW: Homophobia, tw: bullying, tw: mentions of suicide (nothing graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: Hecate tries not to drag her feet as they come closer to the group gathered around a long table covered in sweets and drinks. She wishes she could have a few more minutes alone with Pippa, at least enough to get her bearings; but it’s Pippa’s birthday, and she refuses to be selfish.  Refuses to bring down Pippa’s bright mood with her own dourness and insecurities. She even does her best to smile, a small, tense lift of her lips that makes her face feel hot and her jaw clench.





	for in our youth we did these things

**Author's Note:**

> \- For @elphabashepard on tumblr who requested "Hecate/Pippa + It's always been you." This spiraled out of control and takes a really long time to get to the point but I swear it's in there.  
> \- Thank you to @raumolirien for all her help/beta'ing/listening to me whine about this  
> \- Title from a poem in Anne Carson's, "If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho"

She knows, even before her broomstick touches down on the Pentangle estate, that this is a terrible idea. She'd tried to convey as much to Pippa through the mirror, hedging her words with _I don't think that— and, maybe it would be best if—_

But Pippa had been determined, smile wide and so much hope in her voice—

 _Oh, Hiccup, please come,_ she'd begged. _I want all my friends together._

The meaning hadn't been lost on Hecate—Pippa wanted her there, and she's never been good at denying Pippa anything. Even when they were children, then teenagers, it was Pippa leading the way into all sorts of chaos ( _Fun, Hiccup! You remember fun, right?_ ) and Hecate following behind with a scowl.

They never got in much trouble—Pippa was always far too good at talking her way out of anything—but Hecate isn’t sure she’d have stopped even if they had. She’d have done anything for Pippa, anything she asked, and anything she didn’t. She’d done the hardest thing of all, letting her go, and everything in comparison to that seemed easy.

And yet, Pippa hadn’t seen it that way. Had felt shunted, she’d said, felt abandoned, and Hecate knows if they’re going to repair their friendship—if Hecate is going to fix what she broke, more like—then she needs to do this. Needs to be there for Pippa whether she wants to or not.

And she really, really doesn’t.

Not that she would be opposed to seeing her, of course. She’d done her best to convince Pippa that a quiet evening over tea or dinner would be a suitable replacement for her attendance at the party, but Pippa was having none of it, as usual.

 _It just won’t be the same without you,_ she’d said.

 _It will be better,_ Hecate thought, but didn’t say, and eventually relented, promising to be there at exactly four o’clock, and she is—her feet firmly planted on the ground at one minute before the hour.

Across the lawn, Pippa is surrounded by a gaggle of witches, talking and laughing and Hecate feels her heart sink. She recognizes too many faces, girls from her youth grown into beautiful witches, all of them dressed in bright colors, holding flutes of champagne, at ease in their own skin.

She considers, briefly, mounting her broomstick and flying away before anyone sees her; but Pippa would be… well, she doesn’t know exactly what Pippa would be. Unsurprised, maybe. Upset. Surely not heartbroken, but there’s a voice in the back of Hecate’s head that says she’d be exactly that, though for reasons Hecate can’t quite understand.

And then it’s too late, Pippa’s eyes meeting hers across the backyard, and her face splits into the widest smile Hecate has ever seen. She thanks magic and the distance between them that Pippa can’t see the flush that spreads across her neck and cheeks.

“Hic—Hecate!”

She corrects herself quickly, smile never fading, and Hecate’s heart flutters at the thoughtfulness. She knows Hecate is a private person, doesn’t care much for displays of sentimentality, especially in public; but Pippa still rushes over, abandoning her group to hurry awkwardly across the lawn in her heels, a stilted run that makes Hecate’s lips quirk.

“Pippa,” she greets quietly, unprepared for the way Pippa launches herself at Hecate, wrapping her arms tightly around her shoulders. 

“You came!”

Hecate stiffens, her eyes darting briefly to the disapproving glares of Pippa’s friends, then away, gently pushing Pippa back.

“Sorry,” Pippa murmurs, though not incredibly apologetic as she waves a hand and transfers Hecate’s broom and hat away somewhere. “I’m just so happy you’re here. Your journey was easy, I hope?”

Hecate nods, flexing her fingers at her sides to keep from grasping Pippa’s hand. “It’s lovely weather for a party,” she says, her voice stilted and awkward, and Pippa rolls her eyes fondly.

“Did you practice that on the way over?” she teases, and Hecate feels something loosen in her shoulders.

“I made notecards,” she says dryly, and Pippa laughs, and Hecate wishes for all the world she could bottle the sound, to keep it close to her at all times.

“I imagine you’ll need them,” Pippa says, turning to tuck her arm into Hecate’s as she guides them across the garden. “Mother’s invited some of her friends as well, and you know how insufferable they can be.”

Hecate tries not to drag her feet as they come closer to the group gathered around a long table covered in sweets and drinks. She wishes she could have a few more minutes alone with Pippa, at least enough to get her bearings; but it’s Pippa’s birthday, and she refuses to be selfish. Refuses to bring down Pippa’s bright mood with her own dourness and insecurities. She even does her best to smile, a small, tense lift of her lips that makes her face feel hot and her jaw clench. 

Pippa eyes her with a smile, as if she knows what she’s doing, and hugs her arm tighter as they approach.

“I think you remember Carianne and Eileen?”

Hecate swallows stiffly.

She remembers them, remembers the pranks and the cruel words and whispers she’d done her best to hide from Pippa. The scathing remarks, the drawings in her notebooks, the nasty letters on her Maglet.

She could have told Pippa, she knows now—knows with certainty Pippa would banish them all in a heartbeat. But she can’t, won’t be that vulnerable or that pathetic, won’t let these ghosts from her past ruin what she has now.

So she merely nods, and gives a short, stiff bow. “Well met, sisters.” 

The two women nod curtly, but don’t return the gesture. The others mumble a half greeting that has Pippa frowning, but one woman, a tiny thing with red hair gives an elaborate, if somewhat wobbly, bow back. “Well met, Miss—” She frowns, sways slightly on her feet. “Er, sorry—”

Pippa’s smile returns full force. “This is my very best friend, Hecate Hardbroom.”

The frozen smile slips off Hecate’s face, her surprise palpable in the air between them; but Pippa ignores her, still beaming, still holding her arm.

“Well met, Miss Hardbroom!” The woman—Addy, she later discovers—says, her voice too loud for the circle, and she flushes. “Sorry.” She leans in a bit as if in secret, “It’s really good champagne.”

Pippa chuckles, the sound stealing down Hecate’s spine, and she forces herself to step away, lest her body betray her even further.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Pippa frown for a moment, then turn back to the group with a too-wide smile.

“Right then. I best help Mother in the kitchen for a moment. Hecate, do you mind?” She inclines her head toward the enormous manor, and Hecate relaxes a bit, nodding.

“Of course.” 

Pippa waits until she’s out of earshot of the others before leaning into Hecate’s space. “A little color would have killed you?” she says, but her voice is teasing, full of fondness, and Hecate resists the urge to flinch, or stare down at her black dress.

It's similar to the one she always wears, but a bit more relaxed - still long and high collared and long sleeved (always, always long sleeved), but the material is softer, less stiff, the fabric flowing around her ankles. Even this makes her feel a touch out of place, uncomfortable without the rigidity; but Pippa pauses in the doorway, as if she knows, and lays her arm on Hecate’s elbow softly.

“You look wonderful, Hiccup,” she says, then flushes, though for the life of her Hecate doesn't know why. It's hardly against Pippa’s nature to pay a compliment.

Still, she doesn't get a chance to reply before Pippa is dragging her into the manor through the back door, winding her way easily to the kitchen.

There are more people there, chatting and laughing, and Pippa’s mother, hovering over a stew of some kind in a pot on the stove, other dishes in varying stages of completion around her. She looks up at the sound of Pippa’s heels against the floor, and smiles brightly at the two of them.

“Well, bless my hat, if it isn't Hecate Hardbroom!”

Hecate forces a smile, does the standard greeting, surprised when she’s met by a low bow in return.

“Well met, Hecate. It's wonderful to see you.”

“I—and you as well,” Hecate says, and before she knows it Mrs. Pentangle has shoved a glass of wine in her hand and is asking her countless questions about Cackle’s, about her teaching and her students and what she’s been up to the last thirty years.

Hecate does her best to answer, tries to respond in kind with her own inquiries after the family, and Mrs. Pentangle seems pleased enough. Still, her heart won’t quite stop hammering, her fingers clenched around the stem of her glass, and she doesn’t understand—why the woman doesn’t hate her for what she did, why she’s so kind, when Hecate has done nothing to deserve it. She watches Mrs. Pentagle’s face carefully, looking for the barest hint of criticism or suspicion, and finds nothing—just a gentle smile and a hand held under a wooden spoon she all but shoves in Hecate’s face.

“Taste this,” she says, and Hecate hears Pippa stifle a laugh behind her. “More cinnamon?”

Hecate dutifully touches her tongue to the spoon, and does her best not to cringe at the overly-sweet batter. “It’s good,” she says, and Mrs. Pentangle huffs.

“Good! It’s a family recipe, I’ll have you know,” she says, but it’s light and teasing, accompanied by a wink, and Hecate flounders, grateful when Pippa appears over her mother’s shoulder and swipes a finger through the bowl. Hecate averts her gaze when Pippa pops her finger in her mouth and licks.

“You know you can’t trust Hecate’s tastebuds on sweets, Mother,” she says, grinning at Hecate. “Remember that time you tried to make her eat a trifle?”

Mrs. Pentangle laughs, shaking her head. “You tried so hard to be polite, bless your heart.”

“Did someone say trifle?”

Pippa whirls around, beaming at her father, and all but throws her arms around his shoulders the moment he sets down his broom.

“You made it!”

He chuckles, wrapping Pippa in a warm hug that makes Hecate feel odd—envy warring with the pleasure she always feels at seeing Pippa so happy.

“As if I’d miss my little girl’s big day.”

Pippa hits his shoulder lightly. “Hardly little.”

He murmurs something in her ear, something about her always being his little girl, and Hecate looks away. She’d never begrudge Pippa her relationship with her parents, not ever, but it stings sometimes, the easy camaraderie in her family, the obvious love. She remembers spending the summer at the manor, just once, when her father was away in America on business and her aunt refused to care for her. The Pentangles opened their home to her, and she’s never forgotten how kind they were, how strange she found it—Pippa’s father’s frequent hugs, her mother’s inquiries into both their lives, their obvious interest in what their daughter was doing or thinking or feeling.

It had taken her weeks not to panic at every question, no matter how innocuous. She kept expecting disappointment, anger, frustration that she wasn’t doing more or doing better; scorn over her chosen topics or interests.

But the Pentangles had been nothing but curious, always praising her, frequently teasing Pippa about befriending the smartest witch in school.

It’s the only time in her childhood she can remember feeling warm, and wanted. 

But it’s different now—she’s older, harder, even more uncomfortable with laughter and joy, and she wonders briefly what would have happened if she’d remained friends with Pippa. If she’d spent more time here, safe and cared for and protected. If she’d have turned out differently, softer, kinder.

Hecate stares down at the batter she’s been instructed to stir and tries to tamp down the guilt crawling its way up her throat, the regret.

“Daddy, you remember Hecate.”

Hecate looks up and does her best not to flinch under Mr. Pentangle’s pursed expression, his eyes narrowed, one hand protectively around his daughter’s shoulders. She can’t say that she blames him, but the _well met_ feels stuck to the roof of her mouth, and his nod in return does little to ease her mind. 

Pippa rolls her eyes and extricates herself, crossing the few feet between them to loop her arm through Hecate’s, a show of solidarity that simultaneously makes her feel flushed and warm, and worse. She doesn’t deserve Pippa’s kindness, her fierce protectiveness even now, but she can’t stop herself from leaning into the touch, from softening under Pippa’s gaze.

Mr. Pentangle excuses himself after a few awkward moments, and Pippa’s mother just shakes her head as he goes. “Don’t mind him, dear. You know how men are.”

Pippa laughs and kisses her mother’s cheek, saying they should probably return to the rest of the group outside. Mrs. Pentangle shoos them away, and Hecate tries not to drag her feet as Pippa leads them back through the halls.

“Oh! I forgot to show you,” Pippa says, stopping abruptly. She pulls a photograph from the row of them along the wall and grins. “Remember this?”

Hecate looks down at the photo, of herself and Pippa, the summer she spent here. They’re both perched on a single broomstick, Hecate ramrod straight, hands in her lap, expression serene. Pippa sits behind her, one arm around her neck, chin on her shoulder, pointing at something out of view. Her smile is luminous and carefree and Hecate stares at it, at how different they are, they were, even then. Wonders how someone as bright as Pippa managed to be friends with someone like her.

“We flew all day,” Pippa remembers.

Hecate nods. “To London and back.”

“I was so scared. I’d never flown that high or that far before.”

Hecate looks up in alarm. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would have—”

Pippa touches her arm gently and shakes her head. “I loved it. And, I knew I was safe with you.”

For a moment, there’s something else in her eyes, something soft and tender and unreadable that Hecate doesn’t understand, can’t quite pinpoint. Her smile is soft, thumb brushing over Hecate’s arm in a way that makes her shiver, but it seems to be unconscious, and Hecate buries the disappointment, the faint hope that maybe, just maybe…

Pippa smirks and drops her hand. “After all, you were the best flyer in our year.” 

Hecate swallows tightly. “Second best.”

Pippa beams.

“I seem to recall Raven Elderwood being particularly—”

Pippa laughs. “Oh, shut up, Hiccup.”

\--

The afternoon progresses much the way Hecate had imagined, with one exception. The women are all fake smiles when they look at her, which isn’t often; they ignore her presence as much as possible, but it’s made difficult by the way Pippa has all but glued herself to Hecate’s side. She mingles, of course she does, ever the gracious host, but she always drags Hecate along with her, introducing her to the people she doesn’t recognize, pulling her into the conversations, only leaving her alone once, with Addy, when a conversation about potions ingredients and the latest academic literature makes her roll her eyes fondly and insist on needing a drink to keep up.

Otherwise, she stays, often a hand on Hecate’s arm or back, close enough that Hecate can smell her perfume, faintly floral, and the heat of her touch burns through the thin fabric of her dress.

It's too much, and not enough, and around hour two Hecate excuses herself, needing a moment to breathe. She slips inside the house, grateful for the cool quiet. The summer isn't particularly hot, but the days are long and the sun is bright, and if she's honest with herself, this is the most adult socializing she's been forced to endure since the conference she attended in January.

Pippa had nodded and smiled and squeezed her arm before letting her go, and Hecate marvels at the way Pippa still knows her, after all these years. She pushes her just slightly out of her comfort zone, but never enough to where Hecate feels on guard, and always gives her space when she needs it.

She wonders, hopes, that she's been the same kind of steady comfort for Pippa over the last few months, since they reconciled. Hopes Pippa knows just how dedicated she is to repairing their friendship.

It's why she's here, why she can stand the petty jibes, masked with a smile. Why she doesn't turn and run.

She's done with that—this second chance is more than she’d ever hoped for, and she’s better prepared this time to handle her own desperate emotions, prepared to put aside her feelings for Pippa, to be _better._ For her.

Idling in the hallway, Hecate’s eyes catch on another framed photograph. A triptych, three small images side by side, taken their first day back after the summer she spent at the Pentangles, both of them in their uniforms, holding their broomsticks and bags. Hecate looks uncomfortable, as she almost always does in photographs, stiff-spined and wary, but Pippa…in the first, Pippa is beaming, standing by Hecate’s side; the second, she has her arm slung around Hecate’s shoulder, pulling her close; and the third, she remembers, has never forgotten, Pippa with her lips pressed to Hecate’s cheek, arms wrapped around her, and Hecate—Hecate is smiling. She can't remember another photo when she’s done so, not in thirty years.

It isn't wide or bright like Pippa’s, just a small upturn of her lips, her eyes downcast, cheeks slightly flushed.

She removes it from the wall with a wave of her hand, holds it in her palms, feels her eyes prick and burn.

Everything about that moment, about that summer, was the happiest she’s ever been.

It makes no sense to her, why Pippa would keep these photos. It's clear from the rectangular line of dust on the wall that they've been there for years, aren't new additions. That she never took them down.

She traces her fingers gently over Pippa’s face, stares down at her own, awkward smile and feels the knot in her chest tighten. It hurts, as it always does, but almost a good hurt. Something she wants to keep.

“Careful, Hecate, you're almost smiling.”

Hecate starts at the voice, high and saccharine. Eileen smirks, before her eyes flicker down to the photo and her expression morphs into a scowl.

“I smile when it’s called for,” Hecate returns, transferring the photo back to its position on the wall.

Eileen laughs, but it's fake and edged. “Oh, please - you have many qualities, Hecate, but a sense of humor isn’t one of them.”

Hecate raises an eyebrow. “Or perhaps you aren’t as entertaining as you believe yourself to be.”

Eileen looks almost pleased. “You’ve got teeth now,” she says, and Hecate tries not to bristle as she waves a hand, holding a flute of champagne with the other. “Still, from what I hear you’re all bark and no bite. Passing a student who crashed into a tree? You’ve gone soft, Miss Hardbroom.”

It crawls under her skin, the knowledge that what happened at Cackle’s last term has clearly been gossip fodder; that her behavior is being scrutinized and directed.

Eileen shrugs a shoulder, turning to stand next to Hecate, facing the wall, the photographs.

“It won’t be enough, you know,” she continues, sipping her drink. “Pippa’s far too kind for her own good sometimes. Always taking pity on the less fortunate and…” She trails her eyes over Hecate, in a way that makes Hecate want to disappear. “Needy.”

Hecate swallows the acid taste in her throat. “I thought as much when I heard she’d invited you,” she says evenly, relieved when Eileen’s mask slips for a moment, the unguarded hatred always easier to stomach than the lie.

“Do you really think it will be this simple?” she asks, voice hardening. “You’ll just waltz back into her life after thirty years, like you didn’t abandon her? You think you deserve a second chance?”

Hecate flinches, digs her nails into her palms and stares down this woman, still sees the girl responsible for so much of her heartache.

“I was there when you left,” Eileen continues, pretense vanished. “ _I_ picked up the pieces. _I_ helped her move on.”

Hecate remains silent for a moment, counting down to bottle her anger, her frustration, her guilt. She won't give Eileen the satisfaction of seeing her snap—never did then, and won't now. “If I remember correctly,” she says slowly, keeping her voice level, “you were the one keen on my leaving in the first place.”

“And I was right,” she snaps, then calms, leaning away and smoothing her expression into one of indifference. “She was much better off without you, don’t you think? I mean, look at all she’s accomplished!” She glares at Hecate. “Knowing the _right_ people certainly helped.”

Hecate feels her anger bubble, her hands twitch at her sides. “Miss Pentangle is an extraordinarily talented witch and would have accomplished her goals regardless,” she says sharply, using a voice she commonly reserves for her most disobedient students. “You, nor anyone else, are responsible for the remarkable things she has achieved.”

Eileen smirks, like she knows she’s pushed the right button, and sighs, all facetious sympathy. “Oh, Hecate, you really haven’t changed at all. Still pining after all these years. You really should be more subtle. It would be such a shame if Pippa ever found out. I doubt your newfound friendship would last much longer, would it?”

She recognizes the threat, thinly veiled, and her heart clenches. If Pippa knew, if this woman told Pippa, if Pippa found out—

The consequences rattle in her head, leave her feeling off balance and unsteady under Eileen’s wide eyes.

“What do you want?” she grits out, barely keeping her hands by her sides.

“Me?” she asks, a poor attempt at surprise. “Nothing. I just want to see my friend happy.” She turns to go, stopping just past Hecate’s shoulder to lean in, voice low. “And you could never make her happy. You’ll just hurt her in the end.” She pulls back and smiles, patting Hecate’s arm, bemused when Hecate wrenches it away. “It’s all you know how to do,” she says sweetly, sure to knock her shoulder into Hecate’s as she passes, hard enough that Hecate stumbles slightly, pressing a hand to the wall to catch her balance.

She feels winded, exhausted, nauseated and off kilter, Eileen’s words echoing over and over, her own guilt and self-doubt screaming at her to leave now, before it gets worse, before she hurts Pippa again (and again and again) because Eileen is right, she’s always right, she’s always—

“I never liked that woman.”

Hecate startles, whirls around to find Mr. Pentangle standing in the doorway behind her. The door to his study. The door that, if Hecate remembers correctly, had been cracked open when she first came down the hall.

She swallows tightly and forces herself to stand straighter, to meet his gaze.

“Mr. Pentangle—”

“In here,” he says, in a tone that brooks no argument, turning back into the study without another word.

Hecate follows, hands still trembling at her sides, stands in the center of the room and waits. The door clicks shut behind her, and Hecate jumps.

“Sorry,” he says, his back to her as he pours two glasses of what she thinks is whisky. “Force of habit.”

She nods, then stills in surprise when he offers her a glass, his expression almost soft.

“Here. It’ll calm your nerves.”

She wants to protest that her nerves are fine, that she’s fine, but her hands are still shaking, and she takes the proffered glass with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Mr. Pentangle nods, perching himself on the arm of his leather sofa. He’s quiet for too long, staring at her like he’s never seen her before, and Hecate takes a careful sip of the whisky, almost relieved when it burns down her throat.

“You know, I've always wondered what made you leave,” he says finally, and Hecate winces. “You and Pip were so close when you were younger; when she told me what you'd done, I almost didn't believe her.”

“Mr. Pentangle—”

“I’d planned on talking to you about it,” he continues, tapping his finger against his glass. “Molly says I should keep my ‘abnormally large nose’ out of other people’s business, but my daughter is my business. And you…” He shakes his head, and meets Hecate’s eyes evenly. “You hurt her. Very much.”

Hecate feels sick. She can't hold his gaze, can't look at him, stares down into her glass and tries to keep her voice steady as she says, “That wasn't my intention.”

She expects an argument, a lecture on intention versus result, but Mr. Pentangle merely sighs. “I had a whole speech planned, too,” he says, sounding put out, but for the life of her Hecate doesn't know why. “I was gonna do the protective father routine, suss you out. _What are your intentions toward my daughter,_ the whole bit.” He pauses, eyes softening at her obvious discomfort. “Turns out it's unnecessary, isn't it?”

Hecate curls her fingers tighter around her glass. “I'm not sure I follow, Sir.”

He waves his hand. “Enough of that. David, please.”

Hecate blinks in surprise, and it must show on her face because he sighs heavily and stands, crossing the room to the window. Outside, the party continues, and Hecate can see Pippa, standing in the middle of the group, laughing.

She waits for him to tell her to leave. To get out of her daughter’s life, to do the _right thing_ and leave well enough alone. Leave Pippa alone. Let her be happy.

Instead, he purses his lips, eyes narrowed as Eileen rejoins the circle. “I never liked that woman,” he repeats. “She grew up with Pip, you know. Their mothers are old friends. Thick as thieves before—” He stops, and frowns. “I was gonna say before you, but that's not quite right. Something always felt off about her. Dark. And Pip’s always been good at reading people. Most of the time.”

“She meant well.”

Mr. Pentangle turns, looking back at her over his shoulder. “No she didn't. I'm not a fool, Hecate,” he says, then softer, so kindly it throws Hecate, yet again, off balance. “Never made a damn bit of sense to me why you did what you did...until now.”

He heard.

He heard everything, and it frustrates and embarrasses and infuriates her that even this, her shame, isn't private anymore. Her closely guarded feelings, now out in the world and she doesn't know how to handle that, doesn't know how to stomach the knowledge that yet another person can see right through her. Can use it against her.

“Does Pippa know?” he asks, and she panics, doesn't want to tell him, doesn't want this conversation, doesn't want any of it; and then he softens, clarifying, “About her?”

Hecate shakes her head, barely manages a scratchy, “No.”

“You gonna tell her?”

“It won't help matters,” she says, almost desperately. “They're Pippa’s friends—”

“That is no friend, and you know it,” he says firmly. “She deserves the truth. All of it.”

Part of her, the part of her that knows Pippa would hate what just transpired, the part of her that knows how kind Pippa is, how open and loving, understands that he’s right. That Pippa would hate it, wouldn't stand for it; but Hecate’s been shielding her from stupid, callous words for so long, she doesn't know how to tell her now, doesn't know what good it would do. Doesn't know how to explain without sounding pathetic and weak. Without admitting everything.

Her internal turmoil must show on her face, because Mr. Pentangle sighs and says gently, “I won't tell her, Hecate. But I hope you will.” He pauses, turning to face her fully, and admits, “She’s been happier, since you came back into her life. Talks about you all the time.” He smiles warmly. “You mean a great deal to her. She’d hate being in the dark about this.”

It confuses her, floors her to hear that there’s been a noticeable change in Pippa since they started speaking. She doesn't quite believe it, thinks perhaps it's hyperbole, or just kindness.

She knows she’s been happier - if happy is the right word. More settled, content, balanced - like the world has been just slightly skewed this whole time, and now that Pippa has returned, it's been set to rights. But she doesn't know why Pippa would feel the same, not after what she did - why her presence in Pippa’s life would make any difference.

The voice in her head sounds suspiciously like Eileen’s, like her father’s, like the giggle of school girls in an empty corridor.

Banishing the thought, Hecate nods slowly. “I’ll consider it.”

Reaching out, Mr. Pentangle takes the glass from Hecate’s hand gently. “Do,” he says, and it's a dismissal, a soft one, permission to leave and Hecate takes it gratefully, hand on the doorknob before he calls her name. “It's nice to have you back,” he says, and she knows that somehow, miraculously, she’s forgiven. “You're welcome here anytime.”

It's what he said then, that summer, on an afternoon much like this when he finally asked, his voice so gentle, _Things aren't like this for you at home, are they? They're not good._

She hadn't replied, too afraid of word somehow getting back to her father, but Mr. Pentangle had understood, had told her simply that if she ever needed anything, she could come to him. To all of them.

She remembers it now, remembers that kindness, and nods.

“Thank you, Mr.—” She starts, stops, adds quietly, “David.”

He smiles, approving, and she slips away, out of the room and down the hall and locks herself in the restroom for a good ten minutes, just trying to get her bearings.

When she's settled enough she returns to the party, shoulders relaxing when Pippa bee lines straight toward her, immediately grasping her arm.

“Thank goodness you're back,” she whispers. “If I had to endure another moment of small talk with my mother’s friends I might have screamed.”

“Really?” Hecate says dryly, “I thought you'd all have broken into song by now.”

Pippa huffs a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, then grins. “We save that for after dessert.” She elbows Hecate in the side. “You're leading the round robin, right?”

Hecate rolls her eyes, and Pippa laughs, squeezing her arm. “I'm so glad you're here, Hiccup,” she says, and Hecate smiles at her softly, feels the Earth beneath her feet realign.

“Me too, Pipsqueak.”

\--

She’d almost forgotten about the present.

It’s still with her things, hidden away, and she’d hoped to give it to Pippa when they were alone, or perhaps even leave it for her to find later on; but the group has gathered around a table full of gifts, pressuring Pippa into opening them. She laughs, and agrees, and Hecate watches with a sinking pit in her stomach as Pippa unwraps jewelry and fancy soaps and silk scarves.

Her parents give her a diamond necklace, her mother’s friends hand over a brand new book of spells, gold tipped pages and heavy leather binding. Addy, along with a pink hat, gives Pippa a framed drawing of her school, clearly done by one of the kids, and Pippa laughs at her own, stick-figure image.

The gifts are extravagant, expensive, and Hecate wonders not for the first time why she chose what she did. Why she didn’t just pick up a bracelet or set of earrings. Her lungs feel unbearably small as the pile vanishes, down to the last few people, including her and Eileen.

Eileen summons a pink-wrapped box, and presents Pippa with a handbag she’d evidently been eyeing, pink and white, very stylish, very her. Pippa loves it, and Hecate loves that Pippa is happy, even if Eileen shoots her a smug look when Pippa isn’t looking.

There’s another scarf, a beautiful print of a Degas painting for her office, a sparkly diary. And then Pippa’s eyes flicker to Hecate, a small, hopeful smile on her face, and any plans Hecate had of pretending she’d forgotten fly away.

Pursing her lips, she summons the small, plainly wrapped gift, and passes it to Pippa slowly.

“It isn’t much, I’m afraid,” she says quietly.

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” Pippa replies, slipping a nail under the dark blue wrapping.

She likes to open her presents by hand, Hecate had learned so long ago, and it makes her chest feel strange, almost tight, the knowledge that it hasn’t changed. That she hasn’t changed.

She’s so intently watching Pippa’s hands that she almost misses her gasp as the book is revealed, an old, battered thing Hecate has kept for decades.

The pages are worn and wrinkled, water and tea stains on the cover, but it had looked like that then, too - when they would stay up all night, huddled under Hecate’s covers, reading by a small brightening spell into the night.

Pippa always hated the dark, and Hecate never knew what to say to comfort her, so she’d open a book, whatever was nearby, and read, sometimes for hours, stroking her fingers through Pippa’s hair until she drifted off to sleep.

They’d read everything from textbooks to gossip magazines, courtesy of Pippa’s mother, but this book had been special, a collection of fairy tales Pippa had given her for her 13th birthday. It was a gift, but it became their book, always read together, never alone, always safely tucked away under Hecate’s mattress, enchanted with a protective spell to keep it from going missing.

She hopes Pippa will understand—that she treasured it, that she’s never forgotten it. That those times in her life, safely tucked away with Pippa at her side, are some of her fondest memories. That she never let go of them. Never let go of Pippa.

Hecate isn’t sure if a book can say all that, but when Pippa meets her gaze, her eyes wet and bright, she thinks maybe it did.

When Pippa hugs her fiercely, ignoring the confused whispers around them, Hecate’s almost sure. 

“You kept it,” she murmurs into Hecate’s ear.

Hecate nods, gently pushing Pippa away, too aware of the eyes on them, of the others in the crowd, of Eileen, seething next to her.

“Of course I did.”

Pippa beams, clutching the book to her chest, and before Hecate can protest, she leans in and kisses Hecate on the cheek. 

“Thank you, Hiccup,” she whispers.

Hecate freezes, cheek burning, and barely resists the urge to touch her fingers to her skin.

Pippa sniffles, and smiles, and finally tells the group it’s her favorite book, one she hasn’t read in a long time. She glances at Hecate as she says it, eyes soft, and as much as Hecate wishes they had been alone, that she could have at least tried to explain to Pippa, to make certain she understands, she’s relieved that Pippa seems happy. 

Eileen, apparently, feels no such way. Her eyes are narrowed on Hecate even as her lips form a polite smile, and Hecate wonders again at the anger in the other woman, how someone who purports to be Pippa’s friend could possibly begrudge her any happiness, regardless of where it comes from.

She says nothing, but Hecate can feel the charged air, the hatred radiating from her, a negative energy that makes Hecate want to shutter herself away.

Thankfully, the circle soon dissolves, and after another half hour of mingling and forced conversation, Mrs. Pentangle comes out with dinner. There’s a large table set up in the garden, magically filled with food and plates and glasses, and everyone gathers around. At one end, Pippa’s mother, surrounded by her friends; at the other Pippa herself, and she makes it a point to guide Hecate in the chair directly to her right.

Hecate’s father takes the seat on the other side of Pippa, across from Hecate, slipping in just before Eileen can settle. She flashes him a sickeningly sweet smile and moves down two chairs, Carianne between them.

Addy flops down into the chair next to Hecate, and eyes the food with obvious interest.

Both Pippa’s parents give a toast, full of pride and praise. Pippa laughs and flushes and gets a bit teary eyed during her father’s speech, standing up to hug him tightly when he’s finished.

The sun is slowly setting, casting a warm glow over the garden. Fairy lights hang suspended in midair high over the table, and the space feels safe, inviting. Hecate converses easily with Pippa’s father, and Pippa beams at both of them knowingly.

There’s laughter and smiles all around, and Hecate relaxes slightly, feels bolstered by Pippa’s presence, her father’s, even Addy, who has been nothing but polite—if a bit tipsy—the entire afternoon. She laughs too loudly for Hecate’s taste, is far too demonstrative, hands gesticulating wildly when she talks, but she’s unfailingly kind, with a dry sense of humor and a quick wit that Hecate admires.

She’s telling a story about a disastrous flight to Edinburgh when she knocks over her glass, spilling champagne over the table. Hecate and Pippa both react, the same quick spell to clean it up, and their magic sparks against one another like a static shock.

“Good old Hecate,” Eileen laughs, and Hecate stiffens, “always getting in your way.”

Carianne and the others giggle and Hecate can't stop herself from flinching, hard, hand yanked back into her lap. It's nothing she hasn't heard before—hasn't said before, a weak imitation—but it still stings. The truth of it, the truth she fears, that they're were right and they're still right.

“What did you say?”

Hecate starts at the voice. It's Pippa, but so unlike her—low and controlled—her eyes fixed on Eileen.

The atmosphere changes, levity vanishing, even as Eileen waves Pippa off with her hand. “Nothing. Just an old joke, right, Hecate?”

Around them, the laughter and conversation continues, only Pippa’s father having fallen silent, watching Hecate, waiting, expectant.

But Eileen is also waiting, a dare in her eyes that Hecate won't challenge, not here. Not when this is Pippa’s day, in Pippa’s home, not when everything is going well. She won't be person to ruin it for Pippa, and Hecate suspects Eileen knows it.

“It's nothing,” she says, and Eileen looks smug.

Pippa stares at Hecate for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she turns back to Eileen, her smile all teeth.

“I didn't realize you two were close. What other jokes did you have?”

Guilt slams into Hecate’s chest, a wave of nausea she quells by biting her fingernails into her palms, horrified that Pippa has taken it the wrong way, that she assumes it's at her expense. She swallows, resists the urge to touch Pippa’s arm.

“Pippa—”

She tries, but Pippa refuses to look at her. “I asked Eileen a question,” she says. “Go on. I'm curious.”

The smug grin slides off Eileen’s face as she looks between Pippa and Hecate, finally registers the crackling anger in the air.

“Oh, you know,” Eileen says, “just the usual friendly banter. I've forgotten most of it now.”

Pippa nods. “Friendly banter.”

“It wasn't about you, Pippa,” Hecate says softly, tentatively.

“I'm well aware of that, Hecate,” she snaps, “I'm just trying to figure out why you would say something so rude to my best friend.”

Eileen’s eyes widen as she looks between Hecate and Pippa, and Hecate shuts her eyes briefly against a wave of dizziness.

She should have known Pippa would make the connection, would hear the echo of Hecate’s own words in Eileen’s, but she can't possibly know what happened, what all was said then, and it's that hope and comfort Hecate clings to, even as Pippa’s expression hardens.

“Pippa, darling, it was a joke.”

“No, I don't think it was.”

Eileen sniffs. “What are you implying?”

“I'm not implying anything,” Pippa says smoothly. “I'm waiting for an explanation.”

Eileen opens and closes her mouth a few times, and Hecate has half a mind to let her suffer, let her show her true colors, let it all implode. Part of her wants it to. Wants it over and done.

But she can't let it, for so many reasons, not the least of which this day is supposed to be happy. Pippa taught her that. Pippa, who never failed to bring her a gift, something pretty, something useless, something Hecate wanted but would dare not ask for - a dark blue scarf, a set of postcards, a pin for her hair.

Pippa showed her what the day was supposed to be like, how and why it was an occasion to celebrate, and she won't let her past mar Pippa’s present. Not today.

“It was my fault,” Hecate says, before she’s fully determined what to say, drawing Pippa’s attention away from Eileen. “The first day of classes, remember? I tripped you in the hall. They're just...teasing,” she manages; then, because she can't help herself, adds, “I've been told it's supposed to be funny.”

She doesn't tell her she’d been pushed, doesn't tell her Carianne had been the one to do it.

“See?” Eileen laughs. “Nothing to get worked up about, Pip, honestly. Always so protective.”

Pippa arches an eyebrow, like she knows. “Do I need a reason to be?”

“Pippa, stop,” Hecate murmurs, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and Pippa deflates, looking at her briefly, then away.

“Fine,” she says, clearly not fine at all, and Hecate levels a look at Eileen that make most people cower. Eileen merely shrugs, turns to Carianne, and starts up a new conversation.

Beside her, Pippa remains tense, and Hecate searches for something to say, a way to distract her, but she can’t think of anything, mind numb and fingers itching to reach out and touch.

It’s Pippa’s father who eventually breaks the silence, steers the conversation into neutral territory, brings the smile back to Pippa’s face.

Hecate exhales slowly, trying to calm her racing heart, and after a sufficient amount of time has passed, she excuses herself, transferring into the upstairs bathroom, bracing her hands on the sink.

She’d known today wouldn't be easy, known her past has too many ghosts for it to be that simple; but part of her, the small, childish and naive part of her, still doesn't understand. What she did, what she's ever done, to make those women hate her so viciously.

She thinks of Mr. Pentangle’s words, his observation, and wonders if there's any truth to it. If Pippa chose her over Eileen. If Eileen blames her for it.

Because she can't remember anything else, try as she might. She was never particularly nice to anyone, anyone besides Pippa, too guarded, but she also wasn't actively cruel. She never made fun, never delighted in others’ misery. She never laughed at someone’s expense or tore someone down to make herself feel tall.

She's aware she's always been standoffish, too brusque and too curt for most people. She can't abide frivolous conversation, and in school she spent most of her time alone studying, or with Pippa. Friends, her father always said, were an unnecessary distraction.

But Pippa was different. Pippa didn't care that she was dry, that she was more interested in her studies than gossip, that she was quietly brilliant. Pippa wasn't intimidated; instead, she was proud. She wasn't wounded when Hecate snapped; instead, she gave her space.

And when it was too much for Hecate, when she was overwhelmed, Pippa was always there, with a quiet word and a gentle hand and a smile.

She wants to be that for Pippa. Wants to be there for her, for everything.

She isn't going to do that by hiding, Hecate thinks, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, controlled.

When she transfers back to the party, Pippa has moved from her seat, caught in a conversation at the other end of the table with her mother and another woman. Pippa’s father is also absent, and it's with some trepidation that Hecate settles herself back into her chair, perched on the edge stiffly.

“Brilliant speaker, of course,” Eileen is saying, and Addy mouths ‘Adrianna Brownstone.’ Hecate nods - she’s familiar with her work. She wrote one of the standard upper level potions textbooks, and Hecate has always respected her. Perhaps, if the conversation stays this course—

“Shame about her proclivities.”

Hecate’s jaw clenches.

Addy frowns around a mouthful of potato salad. “Proclivities?”

“She’s...how shall we say… uninterested in the wizarding population.”

Hecate glowers, but Addy just swallows and says lightly, bluntly, “So she's a lesbian?”

Eileen purses her lips at the word. “Quite.”

Addy shrugs, but there's a hint of fire in her eyes that Hecate admires. “So what?”

Eileen shakes her head. “There’s nothing wrong with it, of course. I've just never understood the appeal. Wouldn't you want to get married, settle down one day, have a family?”

“I believe Miss Brownstone will be more than capable of that should the time come,” Hecate snaps, and nearly regrets it when Eileen turns to her, smile all teeth.

“You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Hecate?”

Beside her, Hecate sees Addy open her mouth, but Eileen barrels on, her tone carefree even as her words sting. “Though to be honest, I can't really see you as the family type. You're just not mum material. Nothing wrong with that either, of course.”

Carianne snorts into her champagne. “Hard to be mum material when you haven't got one,” she says lowly, eliciting a string of stifled laughter from the other women next to her.

Hecate grinds her teeth together, counts backwards from ten twice, and forces herself not to react, even though it hurts.

It hurts so much, thinking of her mother, as it always does, the painful reminder that she’s without, that she almost always has been. That her life would have turned out so differently, if only—

But there’s no use thinking what might have been. Especially now, when her every expression is being scrutinized, her weaknesses exposed.

She startles when Pippa appears beside her, abruptly back in her chair with a smile, her father appearing a moment later with a large tray of brownies that he disperses onto each plate with a wave of his hand.

“What are we talking about?”

“Motherhood. Hecate was just expressing her disinterest,” Carianne says, though it isn't close to the truth.

Pippa frowns, but whether she's surprised by the statement or the fact that Hecate had shared such a thing, Hecate isn't sure.

“I think you'd make a wonderful mother. If that's something you want, of course.” Hecate can tell she wants to ask, the question pressing, but she doesn't, knows full well it's a private conversation to Hecate, not one she’d ever share, and Hecate smiles gratefully.

“As would you,” she says softly, and Pippa flushes, smiling down into her tea.

“Maybe someday,” she says, and Hecate’s heart lurches, visions unbidden of a small, blonde girl with a toothy smile, toddling after Pippa; after _her._

It's too much even to dream about and she banishes the thought, swallowing tightly.

“Have you found anyone that catches your eye lately, Pip?” Carianne asks, interrupting the moment, and Pippa starts and looks away, fixing her gaze on her plate in a way that makes Hecate’s stomach roil.

“I—no, not really.”

“Not really?” Eileen echoes, and then, delightedly, “Oh, you have! Tell us everything, darling.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Pippa shifts in her seat, her eyes flickering to Hecate and then away, and she looks so uncomfortable Hecate turns and glowers at the women. Two of them fall silent, shrinking away, but Eileen presses, still smiling, faintly sinister, 

“What's he like? Do we know him?”

“There's no him,” Pippa stresses, setting down her fork with a clatter, and Eileen raises her hands.

“Alright, keep your secrets.” She smirks, turning to Hecate. “What about you, Hecate? Are you seeing anyone?”

Beside her, Pippa stiffens, but when Hecate glances over her face has settled in a blank mask.

“No,” Hecate says, with as much finality as she can muster, but the women ignore her, eyeing her with false sympathy.

“I suppose being deputy head leaves little time for relationships,” Cariann adds. “Such a pity. You always did work too hard.”

“And others not hard enough,” Hecate returns smoothly, satisfied when Eileen flinches.

“Still,” Eileen says after a moment, “You must be terribly lonely, stuck away in that drafty old castle all year. Eleven year olds can't be much company.”

The implication is obvious: that Hecate has no friends there, that she never will, that she’s the odd one out the same as she was in school.

But Hecate merely lifts her shoulder in a shrug and takes a sip of her tea before saying, “On the contrary. I find the students at Cackle’s often raise the level of intelligent conversation, beyond that of petty gossip.”

Across the table, Mr. Pentangle snorts into his coffee.

“Hecate,” Pippa says softly, laying a quelling hand on Hecate’s thigh under the table.

The touch burns, makes her cheeks feel hot, and she looks down, ashamed. She should have better control—over herself, her body, her emotions. She shouldn't let them get a rise out of her, but they do.

They always do.

“It’s hardly gossip if it’s true,” Eileen says, and when Hecate glances up, there's something in her gaze, in the knowing glint, in the set of her jaw. Hecate’s throat closes up, her heart hammering as Eileen continues, so casually, “I was merely wondering if you’d moved on—holding onto what you can’t have is a terrible way to live, don’t you think?”

Carianne smirks and the others are watching her avidly, but it’s Pippa’s voice that brings her back, Pippa’s hand squeezing her leg gently.

“Moved on from what?”

Hecate shakes her head and forces a smile for Pippa. “Nothing.”

“Oh, honestly, Pippa,” Eileen says, looking away from Hecate like she isn't even there. “As if you didn’t notice. She was entirely smitten with you. It was adorable, really.”

She takes a sip of her drink and smiles.

Hecate feels the ground bottom out from under her. There’s no chair, no grass, and all the laughter from the other end of the table fades away. She can't hear anything over the pounding beat of her heart, her own ragged breaths as she tries desperately to breathe, in and out, in and out.

She’s vaguely aware everyone is staring at her, aware of Pippa’s eyes on her face, but she can't look, doesn't want to see the disappointment, the revulsion, the pity.

“You—”

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Pippa,” Eileen says, but it sounds hollow, like she's under water. “I assumed you knew. It was just so obvious. And after her little stunt at the broomstick display, well—one can hardly blame you for walking away, Pip.”

The rushing in her head gets worse, and she can feel her magic sparking, dangerous and alive; feels her skin pull taut around her knuckles as she curls her hands into fists; feels her nails dig into her palms hard enough to draw blood.

Everything is cold and disembodied; she knows they're still talking, knows she should say something, anything, but it's all she can do to keep herself in her chair, keep from running, from transferring far, far away.

She feels like a child again, feels weak and small, hiding behind her books in class, behind Pippa, behind the bookshelf in her father's living room as he raged—

“Hecate?”

She barely registers the voice as Pippa’s.

“It was a long time ago.”

Carianne snorts. “Not so long.”

“Enough,” Hecate says, but it doesn't sound like her, doesn't feel like her.

“Oh, dear, we've made her angry,” Eileen laughs. She remembers that laugh. All airs, all noise. Pippa says something, but Eileen ignores her, taunting, “Going to blow something up again this time? We don't have a cauldron, but perhaps a bottle of champagne? Or possibly a—”

Hecate’s eyes snap to hers across the table, and though she doesn't move, not an inch, Eileen’s voice dies in her throat. Her hands come up to scrabble at her neck, magic fighting back but Hecate holds firm. She’s always been stronger, more powerful, and for the first time she lets it show, presses down on Eileen’s windpipe until she’s gasping.

“I said _enough,_ ” she says, her voice steel, her hands shaking violently against her thighs.

Eileen wheezes and Carianne is shouting and the other end of the table has turned, all eyes on them, but it’s Pippa’s voice she hears, Pippa’s soft touch, Pippa’s pleading, “Hecate, stop, please.”

She lets go, and Eileen slumps forward, gasping, her eyes bright with tears.

“I don't know what Pippa ever saw in you,” she manages, heaving. “You are _vile._ ” She straightens up as best she can, still inhaling sharply, hands clenched into fists on the table. “It’s no wonder your mother killed herself. Anything to get away from your wretched—”

“Get out.”

Pippa’s voice is low, but her words clear and sharp and Hecate feels something inside her break irreparably.

Everything comes slamming back—Eileen’s words, her own violent actions, Pippa’s begging, and it's too much, and her eyes burn.

She should have been better, been in control, should never have let this woman get to her but she did, again, and now she’s ruined everything. Pippa’s party and their friendship and any chance she ever had at something more, gone in the wake of one stupid decision, one moment, just like last time.

_It’s all you know how to do._

Closing her eyes, she forces herself to her feet on unsteady legs, ignores the whispers and stares.

Across the table, Eileen stares smugly at her, full of loathing; but Pippa isn't looking at her at all, won't meet her gaze, and her words come out choked.

“I—I'm so sorry, Pippa.”

And then Pippa looks at her, eyes shining with tears, and Hecate moves to transfer herself away.

A hand clamps down on her wrist, hard.

“Don't you dare, Hiccup,” Pippa says, her voice shaking, and Hecate doesn't understand, doesn't realize what's happening until Pippa stands with her, hand still clasped to keep her in place, and glowers at the other side of the table.

“I said get out.”

Eileen blinks, suddenly aware the words are directed at her, not Hecate.

“Pippa—”

“How dare you,” Pippa snaps, angrier than Hecate’s ever heard her, and her mind is reeling, her heart useless in her chest, her legs weak. “How dare you speak like that to her.”

“She tried to strangle me!”

“You deserved it,” Pippa snaps, “you deserve that and more and I swear if you don't get out of my house in the next _minute_ I will not be held responsible for my actions.” She inhales sharply, and it takes a moment for Hecate to realize she isn't the only one shaking. Slipping her hand further down, she twines her fingers with Pippa’s, relieved when Pippa curls her fingers back and tightens her hold.

“Your broom and cloak are in the hall cupboard. I suggest you retrieve them.” She looks to Carianne. “Both of you.”

“Pippa—”

“Get. Out.”

Hecate watches, heart thumping, as the women rise from their seats. They spare a last glare at Hecate before transferring away, and Pippa nearly sags. The whole table is staring at them, at their hands, but Hecate only cares about Pippa.

“Pipsqueak?”

Pippa forces a smile and gently extricates herself from Hecate’s hold. “Excuse me a moment.”

She transfers away, and Hecate is left standing alone at the head of a silent table. She doesn't want to look, can't, won't bear their pitying expressions or disappointment. She rubs her fingers together at her sides, surprised when they feel wet. When she looks down, there’s a thin layer of blood over her palms, smeared along her fingertips.

She heals them quickly, before anyone can see, but the sting remains, and she’s grateful. Needs the grounding ache.

It's Pippa’s father who breaks the silence, appearing suddenly at her side. “Are you alright, Hecate?”

She jerks her head in a nod, but doesn't trust her voice. Her gaze pulls toward the house, where Pippa had presumably gone. She wants to follow but doesn't know if it would be welcome, if she’s wanted, and she can't stop from looking at Pippa’s father, almost beseeching.

David considers her a moment, then nods. “Go after her,” he says softly, and it's all the persuasion she needs.

\--

She finds Pippa in her childhood bedroom, standing by the window, arms around her waist. Her shoulders are hunched, curled in on herself in a way Hecate has rarely seen, and it sends a shooting pain through the center of her chest.

“Pipsqueak?”

Pippa doesn't turn, and Hecate moves slowly into the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Pippa?”

“You knew, didn't you?” she says, her voice trembling, and Hecate freezes in the doorway. Pippa turns, finally, but her eyes are hard and wet with tears. “You knew how they were, and you never said a word.”

Hecate swallows the lump in her throat. “They were your friends.”

“My friends?” Her laugh is short and brittle. “You must think so little of me, if you thought I could ever be friends with someone who—with anyone so cruel.”

“I didn't—” she stops short and shakes her head, hand reaching for Pippa before falling away. “It's not your fault. You couldn't have known—”

Pippa whirls, so fast and so sharp Hecate takes a step back. “Because you didn't tell me! All those years, you let me think they were just silly and jealous girls when—”

“They were.”

“They _hurt_ you. Didn't they?”

Hecate freezes, too stunned by the anger in Pippa’s eyes, the grief, her shaking hands and she wants to run. Wants to leave this conversation as fast as she can because she knows how it ends, and it can't. It can't go like this, not now, not when she's just gotten her back.

But Pippa doesn't stop, steps forward and Hecate steps back until she hits the wall, nowhere to turn.

“Didn't they, Hecate? What else did they say to you? What did they do?”

“It's not important.”

“Yes it is. Tell me,” she demands, eyes narrowed, voice rising. “Tell me now, or so help me, Hecate—”

“Pippa—”

“Why won't you tell me?” She's nearly shouting, hands balled into fists but she moves no closer, stands her ground in the middle of the room. “What did they do that was so bad that you would keep it from me for all these years? Let me think those horrible women were my friends?” Hecate flounders, and Pippa breaks, her voice cracking. “Tell me!”

Hecate slams her eyes shut, thinks of their taunts, their games, things they knew they should never have known, whispers in her ear, _she’ll never love you, she doesn't need you, you’ll drag her down, worthless witch._

“They said—” she tries, can't, won't inflict those words on Pippa, not then, not now, not ever. “Pippa, please,” she whispers, _please don't make me, please stop, please, please, please—_

Pippa chokes out a sob and Hecate’s eyes fly open at the sound, at the feeling of Pippa’s arms around her neck, clinging tightly, Pippa’s face buried in her shoulder. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Hiccup.”

Hecate shakes her head, and slowly, carefully, presses her hands to Pippa’s back in what she hopes is comfort. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she murmurs softly.

Pippa shakes her head, pulling back but she stays close, her head bowed, hands curled into the fabric of Hecate’s dress. “I didn't see it,” she whispers. “I didn't _want_ to see it.” She looks up, guilt and pain etched into the lines on her face, tear tracks on her cheek that Hecate desperately wishes she could brush away. “You were hurting and I did nothing.”

“You did today,” Hecate reminds her, but it doesn't help. Pippa’s expression crumples, her fingers tightening their hold.

“And you're surprised. What does that say about me? About what kind of friend I've been?”

Hecate startles, at once shocked and furious that anyone, anything, could make Pippa look so lost; could make her feel this wretched. “Nothing,” she says fiercely, sliding her hand to grip Pippa’s elbow. “You—you have always been there for me. You were wonderful. You _are._ ”

Pippa shakes her head. “You didn't trust me.”

“I did,” Hecate promises. “I did, I—I didn't want to hurt you.”

She almost regrets it the moment she says it, regrets the way Pippa’s eyes cloud, the way she trembles, and the question she knows is coming before Pippa speaks it.

“Then why did you leave?” Hecate doesn’t reply, and Pippa stares at her, eyes pleading. “Is—did you really feel—”

Hecate closes her eyes, waits for Pippa to let go, to move away but she doesn’t. If anything, her fingers tighten and she seems to move closer, somehow, though there’s no space between them.

With a shuddering breath, Hecate nods. “I thought it would be better that way,” she says, answering the first question, incapable of voicing the second.

“Because of them?”

Yes, and no, and yes, and she doesn't know what to say, what she can say, what will help and what will make things worse and all the while she feels the words at the back of her teeth, on the tip of her tongue, the simple truth desperate to come out.

“Hiccup?”

“Because they were right.”

It isn't what she means to say, isn't close, and she looks away, down at the floor between them, doesn't want to see Pippa’s fury or Pippa’s confusion or Pippa’s worry, over her, again.

“Right about what?”

She doesn't answer, keeps her lips sealed and jaw clenched and she won't tell, she won't, she won't, she won't—

And then Pippa’s palm is cradling her cheek, tilting her face up to meet her gaze, eyes soft, and Hecate knows she can feel the shudder that overtakes her frame.

“Right about what, Hiccup?”

Her voice breaks. “Me.”

A second hand joins the first, Hecate’s face cupped in Pippa’s warm palms and she feels everything, feels nothing, detached from everything except Pippa’s body pressed to hers and Pippa’s touch and Pippa’s low, trembling voice.

“No,” she says firmly. “Whatever they said, Hecate, they were wrong. About you, about us. Anything that made you feel like you weren't everything to me was so, so wrong.”

“Pipsqueak…” She tries, so hard, to put into words what she feels—the guilt, the shame, the overwhelming hope that she can’t quite quell because Pippa is still touching her, still staring at her, eyes bright and almost wanting, and her hands and body move before her mind can catch up, and before she can rationalize that it's a terrible, terrifying idea, she's kissing her. Kissing Pippa. Just barely, just a brush of her lips over Pippa’s but the intent is clear and her heart surges and trips and her mind starts screaming, so loud she jerks back, head hitting the wall, eyes wide as her hands drop from Pippa’s cheeks.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't meant to—”

Pippa silences her, her mouth over hers, coaxing and desperate, Pippa’s hand around her neck as she drags her closer, and Hecate can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but curl her fingers around Pippa’s hips and haul her closer and maybe it's adrenaline, maybe it's the emotionally charged air or her own insecurities making Pippa respond this way, maybe this is the only time she'll ever get to—

Pippa pulls away on a gasp and presses her forehead to Hecate’s. “Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to do that?”

Hecate stammers, wind knocked out of her, barely a, “I—you—?” falling from her lips before Pippa laughs softly, brushing her thumbs over Hecate’s cheeks.

“For the brightest witch in our year, you're a little oblivious.”

Hecate stares at her, the words garbled and strange as they reverberate in her head, and she doesn't understand, why Pippa is looking at her like that, why Pippa is smiling, why Pippa hasn't shoved her out the door and out of her life and why, why, Pippa is suddenly hugging her, so tight Hecate’s chest aches.

“Oh, Hiccup,” she murmurs, rubbing her back soothingly.

“I don't understand,” she manages.

Pippa pushes her back gently and takes her hands, bringing them up to clasp them over her heart.

“Don't understand what?”

“I thought—we’re friends,” she says, almost broken, and Pippa smiles softly.

“We are,” she agrees, and Hecate feels her heart plummet before Pippa adds, “But I think we’re more than that, too.”

Hecate can't keep the hope out of her throat. “We are?”

Pippa nods. “We always have been. That's why…” she hesitates, squeezing Hecate’s hands comfortingly before she says, “That's why it hurt so much, when you left. It took me a while to realize it but…”

“But what?”

She hadn't realized, never knew how desperate she was to hear Pippa say it, to hear her own feelings fall from Pippa’s lips, reciprocated. Pippa smiles like she knows, and kisses Hecate’s knuckles.

“It's always been you.”

Hecate closes her eyes, breathing ragged, and forces herself under her control, her body to stop shaking, her mind to quiet. She expects, almost believes with certainty that when she opens her eyes Pippa will be gone. That she'll have fallen asleep alone and wake up the same and all of this will have been a dream; but Pippa is still there, still smiling, eyes still bright and wet but there’s joy there now, apprehension and nervousness and _joy_ , because of her.

Because Hecate loves her.

Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that love would make Pippa happy, and to see it so clearly on her face, feel it in her touch, makes Hecate delirious, breathless. She feels her own smile creep across her lips, feels it pull something loose inside her, something knotted away for so many years.

“Pippa,” she whispers, not sure what she wants to say, if anything, if she just wants to hear Pippa’s name, wants to say it with all the longing and love she usually hides.

Pippa must know, must hear it, because she lets out a soft cry and throws her arms around Hecate’s neck, kisses her again, open mouthed and fierce.

It's everything she's ever wanted and nothing she ever imagined, never let herself, and she feels her own arms wrap around Pippa’s back, touches the ends of her hair, holds her close, kisses her back with abandon.

She can feel the tread of self control slipping away, wants nothing more than to bury herself in Pippa—her warmth, her light. Pippa seems to feel the same, pressing in as much as she can, her hands constantly moving over Hecate’s neck, her shoulders, her cheeks.

Everything feels hot, her skin tingling, and she wants to do this forever - wants to stay here in this perfect moment, in the feel of Pippa against her everywhere, the softness of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, the breathy gasps she makes that make Hecate’s lips curve in a smile.

There’s a noise in the background, something distant and faded that she doesn't recognize, can't care to address, not when Pippa is running her tongue over Hecate’s bottom lip, not when she’s pulling at the pins in her hair, not when Pippa’s fingers have intertwined with hers, so soft—

“In my defense, I did knock.”

Hecate tries to jump back but she’s pressed into the wall, manages nothing more than banging her head against the hard surface.

Pippa whirls around, half shielding Hecate with her body, though there’s nothing to hide. Hecate feels her face flush as she meets the amused eyes of Pippa’s father, standing in the doorway.

“Daddy!” Pippa gasps, and she sounds so terribly young, and Hecate feels so young, part of her waiting for the harsh scolding, the anger; instead, Mr. Pentangle shrugs.

“Just wanted to check.”

From the bottom of the stairs, Hecate hears Pippa’s mother holler, “I told you to leave them alone!”

David smirks. “Best do as your mother says,” and with that, vanishes, the door closing of its own accord. Pippa stares for a moment while Hecate wrestles with her own mortification.

Then Pippa laughs.

A bright sound that starts as a giggle, morphs into something wide and deep and Pippa turns, burying her face in Hecate’s chest, shoulders shaking.

Hecate huffs, but she feels the edges of a smile start to tug at her cheeks. “I hardly see what's so amusing.”

Pippa giggles again, nestling into Hecate when she wraps an arm loosely around Pippa’s back.

“We just got caught making out like a couple of randy teenagers,” Pippa says, as if she didn't know, as if her skin isn't still humming.

“I am not _randy,_ ” Hecate mutters, and Pippa laughs again, pulling back to see Hecate’s face.

“We could change that,” she says, and Hecate's heart skips, and Pippa blushes, a question in her eyes that Hecate answers with a soft kiss.

“Perhaps not here,” Hecate advises, and Pippa nods, even as she kisses her again.

“But soon?” she asks, the question so obvious, so open, and Hecate wishes she knew. Wishes Pippa could read her mind, her heart, to know how unconditionally she is loved, how desperately, and for so long. Wishes she knew how to say it, how to explain the near crushing weight of what she feels for Pippa, how it feels to hold and carry and nurture it; how it feels now that it's no longer hers alone.

Instead, all she manages is to smile softly, to reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind Pippa’s ear, fingers lingering. “Whenever you like,” she murmurs. “For however long you like.” She closes her eyes and leans her forehead to Pippa’s, manages, just barely, “I'm yours.”

“Mine,” Pippa repeats, pressing her lips to Hecate’s forehead, her cheek, her jaw. “Mine,” she says, like it's a miracle. “My Hecate.”


End file.
